The Beginning of the End is the End of the Beginning
by TheMadKatter13
Summary: New Email (1) / Hey Sammy, / If you're reading this, I'm dead. CU; Sam's POV


**I just woke up, it's the middle of my fucking night, it's almost 5 fucking am, I'm yawning so hard and so much that my vision is blurry, I _still_ haven't seen s12 (but am working my way towards it, doing a rewatch of the whole thing and I'm in 9 now… I think), I have seen some rather upsetting things regarding the end of s12 (thx for the spoilers tumblr), and I'm writing this from my phone because this fucking idea literally woke me up (fuck you, almost-5-fucking-am).**

 **(That was the original AN I posted to AO3 with, but now I'm posting this to FFN, still from my phone and at work, albeit at a more reasonable 3pm.)**

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 **New Email (1)**

 _Hey Sammy,_

 _If you're reading this, I'm dead. Before you go tearing off through the bunker, no, this isn't a prank (did you know you can set a delay timer on emails? technology, dude). I'm serious, and I'm done. I've done too much and failed too many, and I'm just done. And hey, if you're reading this, Cas is probably dead too. No, scratch that, this email would only be coming to you if Cas died so… yeah, Cas is dead. We're both dead. I'm just… I'm so tired, Sammy. I've been tired for years, but I've done everything I can to make sure the world keeps spinning. I've given up everything, during one apocalypse or another. So I'm done. I've only got one thing left to give to fucking fate and I'm fucking giving it. I'm sorry I'm leaving you though. You were my reason my whole life, the thing (shudup) that kept me going day after day, when all I wanted to do was lay down and sleep and never wake up again. It was always you, Sammy. But for once, it's not because I love you that I'm dead, it's because I love Cas. Yeah, yeah, I used "the 'L' word", but I never said it my whole life, not to dad, not to you, not to Cas, might as well man the fuck up and say it in my suicide note. 'Cuz I guess that's what this is, isn't it? My suicide note. The only thing that killed me this time was grief. And probably my Beretta, I don't know man. I'm pretty sure I didn't go out like some Romeo and Juliet bullshit, but ya never know, desperate times call for desperate measures. And I guess I am desperate. I'm tired of everyone I love dying, of dying because of me and my fuckups, and I know that you should be my sole reason to keep trying, but somewhere along the way, Cas snuck his feathery ass in there next to your Sasquatch ass, and now… when's he's not with us, nothing feels right, and I don't think I'll handle it well if he dies again. So if I lose Cas, I'm sorry but you're going to lose me too. If you do, or I guess since you're reading this, when you do, I want you to get out. You tried it a few times before and it never really worked out and that was always my fault, so this time, I know you can get out, and stay out. If you wanna just leave Kansas and never look back, hit another dog, find yourself another girl, fine by me. If you wanna hit another dog, find another girl, and raise little Babies of Letters, also fine by me. I've never wanted anything other than for you to be happy, Sammy, and I hope you find some this time around. Don't come looking for Cas'n'me, hopefully we'll see you on the flip side after a long, long time (I'm talking freakishly-long, you health nut)._

 _Stop crying._

 _Bitch._

 _(Sorry this thing is one big block, I don't really know how to make paragraphs but at least I made sure my spelling and grammar were kosher. You're welcome.)_

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It takes two days, a hack into the phone company to track the GPS on Dean's cell, an actual tracking spell, a stolen K-9 unit, and a shovel before Sam finds them. He's seen a lot of raunchy corpses over the years, a lot of ones that would make more seasoned hunters (or even cops) gag, but it's the first time seeing a corpse, or rather, corpses, makes him simultaneously want to cry and vomit. He does neither, not now, not yet.

Cas is sitting upright in a shallow grave, an angel-blade hole in his chest. His eyes are closed, and he's in the same damn clothes he's always been in. Dean- Sam has to turn away for a moment, his brain almost refusing to process what his eyes were reading. His entire being wants to reject the sight, but he has to see it. He has to know.

Dean is mostly sitting up too, but he's curled against Castiel, the angel's arms wrapped loosely around his waist and Dean's head is tucked under Cas's chin. It almost reminds Sam of a child taking comfort from their mother, and comfort is something Dean's fought against his entire life. To the point that he's only accepting it now, in death. If Sam didn't know better, he almost would have said murder-suicide, but there are tear tracks through the dirt on Dean's cheeks, a hole in the side of his skull, blood and brain splatter against the rough wall, and his Beretta in one hand. There's a rope around Dean's other wrist, the one looped loosely around Cas's shoulder, the same rope that had been sticking up from the mound of dirt the dog had lead him to. A look up into the trees shows him an empty tarp.

The whole situation plays out behind Sam's clenched-shut eyes and he hates it, he hates every second, every iota of his imagination, of the images his brain conjures of Dean either watching Cas die or finding him like this, of building a grave and rigging a pulley full of grave dirt, of positioning himself in Cas' arms before shooting himself in the head, of the rope snapping and dropping dirt over them, covering them.

For a long while, Sam just sits there, staring through the foliage into the sky, watching the clouds pass overhead as he absently pets the dog at his side. Dean actually did it. He ended it once and for all. Not that Sam ever really even suspected an ending like this, and yet, here the three of them were, for the last time. After all they did together, after all they saved and ruined and saved and ruined all over again, this was how two-thirds of their story ended. It seemed… ridiculous. Hilarious.

Sam laughed until he cried, and then he cried until he couldn't breathe.

"You sure picked a hell of a time to learn how to be selfish, Dean," he finally told his brother's corpse when he could finally breathe and see and speak again. "I'm really mad at you, this was a complete dick move and I hope to hell you're not around to hear it. And I sure as hell hope that you're not in hell. You better in heaven. If I get up there and find out you're not there, then I will go looking. I know you can't hear me, I just wanted it on record."

He stays there until the sun finally steals away the fading light, and then he makes sure that neither of them come back. He almost throws up as he dumps salt and sprays lighter fluid on his family, but he keeps it together. He can fall apart when he's back at the bunker. The first match he strikes, he pauses instead of throwing it for so long that it burns down to his fingers and a shake of his hand lands it in the dirt at his feet. The second one only gets halfway there before he unlocks his fingers and let's it drop.

A lifetime ago, he and Dean gave their dad a hunter's funeral on a beach, and Sam had prayed that it would be the last family member he'd have to do one for. He'd prayed that they'd find the yellow-eyed demon, that they'd get out and get on with living normal lives. That had never been an option for them, but he didn't know that then. He knew it now though. And yet, there wasn't much left in the world that needed killing. All the standard stuff, but there were plenty of other hunters that could take care of that. Dean and him had pretty much taken care of everything else. As far as he knew. And he didn't want to learn any differently. Because that was Dean's dying wish: that Sam get out, and that he stay out. That was always Dean's dying wish, and Dean had always come back. Bit this time, this time Dean wasn't going to come back and Sam had to hold himself to that.

The sun had already started to come back up by the time the fire had started to die down, leaving nothing in its wake but charred bones. The dog perked up when Sam moved for the first time in hours, but he ignored it for the time being. First, he had to finish this. He made a second, deeper grave inside the first, and gingerly placed each warm bone inside, where they would be safe from anyone who would come looking. He did his best to keep the right bones together, to keep the two of them together, but they had never really had personal bubbles with each other in life and Sam didn't think they'd mind being mixed up in death. He hoped they were together in heaven, that they'd found their own heaven together, that they'd finally be happy and together, none of the societal restraints of earth holding them back from confessing. Maybe Dean would actually be the first one to speak, or maybe he wouldn't need to after a stunt like this. Maybe…

Sam shook the thought from his head as he dumped the last bit of earth over the remains of Dean Winchester, the most infamous hunter who ever lived, who hated the supernatural as much as anyone, and who died for the angel he loved; and over the remains of Castiel, the Angel of the Lord who'd fallen for a human in every sense imaginable, who'd finally brought Dean Winchester to his knees in death where none had been able to in life. Sam patted the mound of dirt with his shovel, his last goodbye to the brother that had raised him and stayed with him through thick and thin and trials by fire, and the angel who had joined their motley crew of two and had stayed just as steadfastly. Silently, Sam buried the two people who had sacrificed more than the world would ever know to save it more times than the world could ever imagine. Finally, Sam walked away from the last two people on earth who knew him, who knew his past accomplishments and failures, who had seen him at his worst and his best, who knew what he did and backed him up no matter what.

That day, the world lost the hunters Castiel (Angel of the Lord) and Dean Winchester (the Righteous Man), and the hunter Sam Winchester (the Boy with the Demon Blood) took in another dog and became the first in a new, long line of Men (and Women) of Letters. A Legacy, one who will make sure everyone knows what a human and an angel did for the world.

FIN

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 **God that's a shitty ending, shitty fic overall, lbr, but my fingers are cramping, it's half-past 6 am, the birds are waking up, and now maybe my brain will let me go the fuck back to sleep (for the love of god please let me go back to sleep).**

 **I forgot about Mary and the British lady from the end of s11 but I don't know anything about that and I'm hella tired so night.**

 **Reblog the thing (themadkatter13 fanfiction tumblr, tagged/The-Beginning-of-the-End-is-the-End-of-the-Beginning).**

 **Fuck, I'm hungry.**

 **(Also my original AO3 post. I did get back to sleep. After some soup. No longer hungry.)**


End file.
